As if the universe doesn’t want my agitation to boil over, my intercom buzzes.
“Mason is here, Mr. Prince,” my assistant says. “Do you want him to come to your office or should he meet you at one of the residences?”
“Tell him to come up to Penthouse One,” I reply.
“Right away, sir.”
I hang up and surge to my feet. Then pause to smooth down my tie.
I bark out a laugh when I realize I’m nervous. How my enemies would laugh if they could see me now.
But they can’t.
By choice, very few people are allowed to see me these days. And as of today, that tight, exclusive circle has widened to include Skye Michaels.
I leave my office via the private elevator that transports me between my five condos.
The upper four are my personal residences, the fifth my office. I hit the button for Penthouse One. When it arrives, I step out into the living room and head for the bar to pour myself a double shot of bourbon.
I swallow half the contents before striding over to the floor-to-ceiling windows that form all four walls of penthouse.
New York City lies at my feet.
On a cloudless day like today, I can see every inch of Manhattan and clear across the East and Hudson rivers to the other boroughs.
The elevator pings behind me and I turn to face the room. Mason emerges first then holds the door for her.
He doesn’t touch her to help her out and for that he gets to keep his jugular, and his job, for now.
She takes a few hesitant steps into the room and freezes when she sees me.
Fuck me, she’s even more breathtaking in person.
Wide blue eyes blink adorably, and her mouth forms an O. I want to slide my thumb—and other, thicker parts of my body—into that cherry-hued hole.Soon.
“Leave,” I snap at Mason without taking my eyes off her.
She flinches and I have the strongest urge to walk over, take her into my arms and soothe her. Tell her I’m not the complete animal my tone suggests.
But that wouldn’t be true. I am a monster.
Attack first and without mercyis my mantra these days.
I’m furious that her father betrayed me before I saw him coming, but no matter. He’ll feel my brand of justice before I’m done with him.
For now, his daughter will do.
I prowl toward her and see her slight trembling even before I reach her. Still, her chin lifts and she attempts to stare me down.
“W-what’s this about?”
“Hello, Skye.”
Maybe it’s the gruffness of my tone or the blatant hunger I know is evident in my stare when I take in the pale pink leggings clinging to her body, displaying her toned legs and the darker pink hoodie covering what I know to be perfect handfuls of tits.
“You know who I am?” I ask.
She blinks again and color stains her creamy cheeks. Sweet Jesus, I want to devour every inch of her.